Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart
by Porcia
Summary: I'll forgive you if you just come back home.
1. Oh lover, I'm lost

It's foggy outside, and my skin is sticky.

Never mind that it's November, there's a humidity in the air that I'm just not used to.

It smells... wet. There's no snow on the ground. And it smells like skunk. Cold months just aren't what they used to be...

My phone rings.

My heart is pounding in my chest, and suddenly, all I can hear is the blood rushing to my head.

_Woosh woosh. Woosh woosh._

I stare at the screen, and just as I expected, the numbers are non-sensical.

I take a deep breath, and I pick up.

"Hi."

"Bella."

A year ago, my name sounded like a prayer on his lips. I was a precious jewel, nestled in his grasp. I was everything to him.

I'm not quite sure where things fell apart.

...That's a lie. I know exactly when things crumbled. When _we_ crumbled.

"How are things?"

I don't really want to know. The last thing I want is more...of this. More stinging. More hurt.

"Good. We've been..."

I check out. I stop listening. I don't want to know. I don't want to hear all about just how bloody fantastic things are. About how fucking amazing his life is. His life without me.

"Edward?"

I interrupt because I can't fucking deal. My eyes sting, my heart is heavy, sunken deep in my chest, and I am going to lose control and start sobbing any minute now.

"Yeah?" There's a smile in his voice. Because he loves talking about his days. And it kills me that I can still picture him.

"I can't talk right now, I'm sorry. I'll talk to you soon though."

"Oh. Alright, well I just called to wish you a goodnight. I didn't think you'd have plans tonight?"

Because I don't, Edward. I never do. Not anymore.

"Yeah, I'm actually out right now. Just outside the bar, actually. I'll talk to you later."

Liar, liar.

"Uh, sure. Have a nice night..."

He sounds surprised.

"Yeah, thanks."

"I guess, bye?"

"Bye"

I hang up before he can say another word.

The second the piece of glorified plastic in my hand flashes 'Disconnected', a sob wrangles its way from my lungs, my throat.

My knees can't hold me up anymore, and I fall to the ground.

I am standing on my front porch... And I can't breathe.

His voice plays in my head, on a loop.

Every single thing he's ever said to me.

Lord, forgive me. Forgive me for not being able to forgive him.

_Forgive me._


	2. When you wake up I'll have come

**To everyone who has read, loved, reviewed _In The Shallows_: Thank you. Your words, and your love have meant so much to me.**

** This story won't be too long, and we'll just get right into it. I'm trying something a little different... I hope you'll stay.**

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><p>It is too fucking warm, and thank god, it's a dry heat for once.<p>

The crickets are so loud, you can hear them over the music, the laughing, the glasses clinking, the obnoxious story telling. This is a celebration, after all.

I finally finished. I finished the house of my dreams... and it's perfect. An old 1901 school house, transformed into the home that I've dreamt of my entire life. Dark wood floors, light walls, pops of colour everywhere. Turquoises and corals and cobalt blues. Gauzy curtains, white stone countertops, butcher block islands, and creamy, soft fabrics. Wrap-around porch. Big tree on the front lawn. Apple orchard to the left, and a sunflower field to the right. Dream come true.

My best friend Rosalie threw this for me. A house warming... Too bad that people are stomping all over my lawn. But, of course, this is the country, and having a house warming party outside is just what they do here.

I am mingling. I am chatting with these people I've never met.

I recognize a few. People from the town. Some guy who works at the grocery store. Some thin, worn out, grey girl who I'm pretty sure works at the vet clinic.

But then, I see him. Just out of the corner of my eye, there's this halo of burnt orange that glimmers in the glow of the twinkling lights. I rudely zone out of the conversation I'm having with some teacher at the high school, focusing my attention on this new guest.

He's talking to Rosalie, hugging her and kissing her cheek. I swallow, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. Does she have a new boyfriend? Did she just forget to tell me about him? She turns around, looking for someone. Her eyes settle on me, and her face lights up. She waves me over.

Those twenty or so steps towards them are hard. So hard. This man is stunning. Of course, so is Rose. So it's fitting. But fuck if I'm not jealous.

"Bella! Come meet my cousin!" Five more steps, and suddenly there's a bounce in my step.

"Hi Bella, I'm Edward."

He has a tiny little freckle right under his left eyebrow. And I have this overwhelming urge to kiss it. My hands are moist, and even though I feel like I'm going to die in this heat, a chill tingles up my spine, and every single pore of my skin is on alert.

"You're late, Edward. It's nearly one in the morning." Why couldn't he have come sooner? So that I could admire him and listen to his voice all night long.

I don't even notice that Rosalie has slipped away.  
>"Well, I apologize. It's a long drive from New York." He's smiling at me, and his hand reaches out. His fingertips touch my forearm, and runs a circuit up and down, from my wrist to my elbow.<p>

Guest leave, chairs are overturned on the grass. Glasses and beer bottles litter the big wooden table in the yard. But I don't care. We're sitting on the porch swing, laughing. Talking. His fingertips have been replaced by his thigh brushing against mine. I can barely hear the crickets anymore.

"This places looks beautiful, Bella..."

"I should give you the tour."

Before I can get up and show him my pride and joy, his lips find mine. And it's bliss. It's fireworks, and cymbals crashing. It's waves, and high winds.

I give him the tour.


	3. As we lay down to bed

**My apologies. This story will be complete before the new year. Bear with me, please. **

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><p>He's sweet and sticky.<p>

My cheek is on his chest, and I'm swimming in his scent. Man. All man.

His chest rises and falls rapidly. He is quiet, falling asleep. His arm around my body, cradling me. I could live forever and never feel like this again. The soft porcelain light on the dresser casts shadows on every detail of his body, turning his muscular chest into a masterpiece of ripples and dark valleys. My eyes seek to memorize every last detail.

I hadn't seen him in four long weeks. Four weeks of brief phone calls, and long messages. But now, he is here. In my bed. In me.

I never saw myself become _her_. You know, _her._

_Her_... the one that waits for those lips on her skin. The one who dreams of searing green eyes. The one who yearns for a touch, a whisper, a word.

But every single time he leaves on assignment, my heart stops. I worry, I stress, I live in the clothes that he keeps in the top drawer. Every morning when he's gone, the first thing I do is run out to the end of the drive to pick up the newspaper. My eyes dart from picture to picture, inspecting the name below each frame. I am following his journey as he shares it with the world.

"Bella."

His hand skims along the length of my torso, ending at my hip. My mouth search his, and our lips meet, first softly, then impatiently. Moans echo on the walls, sheets ruffle, sweet and sticky.

"Edward..."

He has me where he wants me, vulnerable to all the good that he's about to unleash on my body.

Our eyes lock and the corner of his mouth quirks up. His hips jut forward, and he fills me. His lips find mine and our kisses are frantic, messy, wet, perfect. I am without breath, reaching, reaching, reaching... and I fall off the proverbial cliff. My head thrown back, my body stiff, my muscles tense, my voice hoarse and my eyes rolled back. His mouth is attached to my neck, licking, sucking. His groan rings out, harsh, loud, perfect.

"I love you, I love you... baby... love you..." My voice dies out on the last word, as my eyes close and I finally fall asleep, my body too tired, too satiated, my heart too full, to heavy.


	4. Till I come back again

It's difficult, you know? Wondering. Wondering if he'll come back in one piece. If he'll come back at all. He is strong, I know this. He has been in the worst of places, seen the worst things, has met the worst of people. But it has been a year now, and he isn't just some _boy_ that I'm seeing. He is the man I love, the man who I live with, the man who I want to spend the rest of my days with. He is the man who annoys the ever-loving-fuck out of me when he leaves his dirty socks on the floor. He is the man who can't cook for shit. He is the man who leaves _I love you_'s scrawled on post-it notes all over the house when he's away. He is the man who makes me howl with laughter just by making faces.

And yet, despite all that love, here I am. Alone. Wondering.

I wonder if he's okay. If he's alive. If today is the day that I get a phone call. If today he'll decide "You know what? I'm tired of this and I want to go home."

He loves his job. I love that about him. It makes him happy. It fulfills him. His work is beautiful, and of course I'm proud of him. I'm proud of the stories he tells. Of the art he makes. But my nerves are shot. Every time the phone rings I am scared. He tells me to stop. That I am worse than his mother. That I worry about nothing. We fight. Every single time he leaves. My heart hurts the second he walks out the door to leave for the airport. I always run out the front door, running after the taxi. He always stops at the end of the driveway, ready to forgive me.

I am sitting at my desk. Waiting. He should be back tomorrow. He hasn't called in 48 hours. I worry my lip. I can taste the blood when I bite down too hard.

The phone rings, and my heart stops. It's not him, though. It's one of my clients. When can they expect the proofs for their book. I sent it to them 3 days ago. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Another call comes in, and the line beeps. I rush an excuse and switch lines.

"Bella?"

"Esme?"

"Bella, are you at home?"

My heart sinks.

"Bella... there's been an accident."

And that moment? That moment is exactly when things crumbled. When _we_ crumbled.


End file.
